


Concentrate and Ask Again

by Fundead (DragonThistle)



Series: The 8-Ball Series [1]
Category: Gorillaz
Genre: 2D might have a few regrets, M/M, Murdoc doesn't know how to deal with this domestic shit, Oviposition
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-07
Updated: 2017-02-07
Packaged: 2018-09-22 16:17:14
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,139
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9615635
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DragonThistle/pseuds/Fundead
Summary: It’s no secret Murdoc’s not exactly 100% human anymore. But this is a little weird, even for him. And unexpected. And potentially a big problem.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Part of the 8-Ball series I started on tumblr. Easier to manage over here on ao3. Find me @fundead-afterdark

Murdoc has a strange way of being roughly gentle. An oxymoron, perhaps, but a truth none the less.

2D has been on the receiving end of that truth countless times. Not that he minds, in fact, more often than not he’s asking for it.

It’s the crack of dawn, still dark outside the shuttered windows, the rest of the building as quiet as it ever gets. The occupants of a certain frontman’s room, however, are wringing up a storm of noise. Not that anyone else can hear it. Hopefully.

“N-noisy little—fuckin’—ahg! Shut up!” Murdoc scrambles to keep 2D pinned while simultaneously attempting to gag him with a sock, “By Satan, we’re _talked ‘bout this_!”

“Mhn—I dihn’—s-stop bein’ r-rough! Muds! Ah!” 2D sees the sock being raised threateningly and he clamps his mouth shut, hissing through clenched teeth, “‘Kay, ‘kay! Sorry, I—M-Murdoc!”

There’s an involuntary yelp driven from the singer as Murdoc rams into him hard enough to push 2D up the headboard, scraping his bare shoulders until his head knocks into the wall. 2D grabs at the bassist, pale fingers digging into the other man’s shoulders to brace himself, heels digging into the bed. Murdoc is grinning that wicked grin, long tongue lolling over his jagged teeth. He’s got the wild eyes of an animal, fevered and hungry but deadly sharp. He’s attentive and masterful, almost unfairly so. 2D’s a puppet under Murdoc’s attentions, putty in the man’s hands.

There’s a deft movement 2D doesn’t catch and a pillow is wedged behind him and the headboard, bracing his lower back from taking too much damage. Murdoc has one hand braced on the headboard beside 2D’s heaving ribs and the other tucked into the singer’s electric blue hair, giving it subtle tugs even as his knuckles scrape the wall he’s keeping 2D’s head away from.

2D looks down and Murdoc looks up and by God (Satan?) 2D can swear he sees fire in that red eye.

Murdoc ducks his head and his tongue slides across pale, shivering skin. Over the left nipple (that gets a strangled gasp), across the collar bone (a whimper), and along the neck where a vein is standing out clear and pulsing (that draws out a high pitched whine). The bassist leans up, still rocking into 2D who’s now wrapped his skinny around around Murdoc’s shoulders, and teases the skin on his partner’s neck with the tips of his teeth. 2D squirms, tilting his head to one side and curling in on himself protectively at the same time.

A sharp tug on his hair has him gasping and baring his neck fully.

“Ah-a-almost there, love,” Murdoc gasps against 2D’s neck, lips brushing his skin. His belly is hot, his skin crawling, his entire being stretched taut with a tremendously burning pressure, “Little—nhff—ah, c’mon…”

2D can’t even form words anymore, a film over his darkened eyes, and he’s as close to the edge as Murdoc.

Fingernails as jagged as nicotine stained teeth scrape across an exposed side, leaving trails of red through smeared sweat and bite marks.

2D wails, arcing against the headboard, body pressing against Murdoc’s as he spills across both their chests. His cry is cut off with a strangled gasp as the bassist sinks his sharp teeth into 2D’s neck. He might have bitten a little too hard because he taste blood on his tongue but, fuck all, his gut hurts as he releases and it’s got them both shuddering.

The clench in his guts has Murdoc rocking into 2D again, spittle and blood sliding down his chin as he tilts his head back, convulsing with the sensation. It burns, a painful kind of pleasure burn like someone stretching him too wide too fast and 2D is making the choked noises he makes when Murdoc does exactly that to him.

“Nhg, f-fuckin ‘ell…shit…” They slump on the bed, a nearly catatonic 2D wheezing for breath as Murdoc gasps words out past spit, blood, and sweat, “Damn, dahrlin’, dihn’ know you could keep g-goin’ like that…s’ noice…” He grins lopsidedly at the man underneath him, pushing himself up slightly for a better look at the mess he’s made.

“Mm…Muds, I…I don’ feel s’good…” 2D’s voice is a little hoarse and he sounds pained, “M’ stomach hurts…”

“Eh?” The bassist heaves himself up with a grunt, sitting back enough to let his eyes sweep over 2D’s wiry frame. His eyes widen and his mouth drops open. It looks a little frightening with the blood still on his lips and chin and smeared across part of his cheek,

“What the ever loving _fuck_.”

“What?!” 2D scrambles to sit up properly and looks down at himself.

“Don’t you dare scream you fuckin’ sod!” Murdoc clamps a handover 2D’s mouth, looking furious. But the panic is his eyes matches 2D’s to a T. His gaze slides away from 2D’s panicked face, down his chest, and to his distended belly, “Ah, fuck me, din’ think ‘bout this. Mm.” His nails scrape his stubble and he frowns, thinking hard. 2D watches him in a sort of petrified silence, breathing slowly evening out against Murdoc’s fingers.

“Iffin’ I take me hand off,” The bassist squints at his frontman, lip curling to show his teeth, “You gonna scream that girly ass scream a’ yours?” 2D shakes his head fervently, “Yeah, ’s what I thought, ya’ tosser.” He removes his hand, pats 2D on the cheek, and then helps the young man sit up properly, propped against the headboard, “Feelin’ a’ight?”

“Er, wos’…wos’ you done to me, Murdoc…?” 2D gingerly skims his fingers over his stomach and shudders at the unfamiliar sensation.

Murdoc, for his part, flops against the headboard next him and pulls a cigarette from the pack on the bedside stand to light. He tries to pretend his hands aren’t trembling as he flicks the lighter open,

“Eh, ya’ know,” Smoke billows out with his words, “Jus’ laid some eggs.”

There is no answer for that besides silence.

“Oh,” 2D says in a small voice after a while, starring off into the middle distance, “Okay then.”

“Right.” Murdoc grunts beside him.

“Mm.” Says 2D.

Murdoc snubs out the cigarette in a mostly empty cup of water nearby and reaches for another, “Don’ worry yer pretty head ‘bout it, Two Dents. Should lay ‘em in a week or so.”

2D makes a noise that may have been trying to be a word but forgot it’s purpose in life halfway out of his lungs and instead escaped into the world as pathetic wheeze. Murdoc chuckles though it lacks a fair amount of his usual bluster,

“I said don’ worry about it,” He takes a drag on the cancer stick staining his fingers and blows a perfect smoke ring,

“They’re pro’ly duds ‘nyway.”


End file.
